twice a year
Grandpa Jeff
would visit
Holroyds & Sons

the finest men’s
tailor shop
in the north
of England

(or so the battered sign
affirmed above the door)

there’s something about
a finely coutured piece
of cloth

he’d proclaim

dressed
in his finest tweed
whilst resting the needle
on Buddy Holly & The Crickets
and fingering
the sleeve

now there’s a group of men
who knew a decent tailor

he’d say again

before packing a pipe
& disappearing in a puff
of tobacco smoke

we buried him
ten years ago
yesterday

& each year
I find myself
questioning
more & more
our hunger
for convenience

the off the rack suits

those MP3 downloads
at a click of button

the knock-off tobacco
bought from the lad
down the road

Grandpa Jeff
was laid to rest
with his only wife

my father
is still alive
with three
ex-wives
(a forth
on the boil)

& I just
continually
fuck around

 

 

 

 

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